Dark House
by EmyEatWorld
Summary: In the fictional town of Havenport, Massachusetts there is an old asylum that nobody goes to anymore - except for one Elliot Parker.
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction**

Everything in Havenport had been in Havenport since the 1800's , and I'm sure that goes for some of the people here too. Nobody ever left, and nobody ever came in. This isn't a tourist location, there's nothing special about Havenport and it's impossible to locate on any map of North America - let alone a map of Massachusetts. You can turn a corner one second and see large houses with brick walls and stained glass doors, and the next second you see multiple hovels held together with metal panels and planks of wood. There's one store in all of Havenport, and it's a dollar store. The nearest grocery store is an hour away, and the nearest mall is at least three hours away. Havenport was the simplest place is Massachusetts, if you knew one person, you knew them all. There were only two interesting things about Havenport, to be completely honest - the girls, and the abandoned mental asylum that was tucked away behind the Artaud household. Many people wanted to know what the asylum was like, but nobody ever dared to venture into it. But that's just who I am - a nobody.

**Chapter One  
**My uncle sat across from me in his favourite navy blue chair. Both of us said nothing, we just looked out the window and watched people pull in and out of the long driveway. Downstairs people dressed in black shuffled around giving each other hugs and kissing each other. We both agreed that we would stay away from the crowd of people that we were supposed to be talking to and getting respects from. We aren't very social people. I am like he was when he was in high school. I have friends, but not many. I don't bother to join any clubs; I hate attention. I never go to parties; they're pointless and just another excuse for underage teenagers to get drunk and rub their bodies against each other. I don't have a girlfriend, I don't intend on having one. My uncle told me that girls don't matter during high school, and that I should wait until later. He's a smart man, but he barely shows emotion.  
His wife died yesterday from an aneurysm two nights ago, and he hadn't cried once since. I've lived with him my whole life, and not once had I seen him cry, or tell somebody that he loved them. The only time I had actually seen him laugh was when I had gotten a fork stuck between my teeth as a kid. As much as it should worry me that he's emotionless, it doesn't. In fact, if he was to start showing emotion, I would become worried.

We continued staring out the window, watching the cars were pulling away from the house. I'm pretty sure that everybody in Havenport had came to visit us today, but we wouldn't really know that considering that we've been upstairs in the library all day. When I say 'all day' I really do mean that word for word. I could't sleep last night, so at midnight I came into the library and he was sitting there, sleeping with a book open in his lap. I didn't want to wake up, so I sat in the corner of the room and started reading. I think I read six books, all of which I had read before.

I looked over at my uncle once the driveway was completely cleared - except for my old jalopy of a truck and his tiny black bug. He kept staring out the window not even notifying my existance. "I'm going to clean up the mess downstairs," I said. He blinked in reply and I got up out of my chair and headed down the spiral staircase. The living room was almost spotless, except for a few wine glases that were on the coffee table. Automatically I thought about how many sad, drunken drivers had just pulled out of the driveway. I turned on the radio to our local station as I cleaned the room, listening carefully for any announcements of crashes. Suprisingly, I hadn't dropped anything, despite the shakiness of my hands. That was the thing about me; I got nervous and worried far too easily. I'm not sure if it was just how I was, or if I had anxiety problems, Either way, I'd rather just like to believe it's all in my head.

The room now appeared nearly spotless. There were a few drips of wine on the carpet - my uncle was bound to be angry about that, but in the defense of the wine the people who had spilled it were probably too busy mourning Aunt Silvie to even realize what it was that they were actually doing. I sighed and fell back onto the couch, my head hit hard against the arm rest making my skull begin to throb slightly. Before I knew it I was falling into a daze. My eyes fluttered closed and I drifted off.

I do not know how long I had slept for, but I awoke to my uncle standing over me, shaking me nervously. "Eli?" I shot up quickly almost making my uncle fall over. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yea, why?"

"You were screaming again."

I'm not quite sure, but I think I gave him a very confused look. He sighed and walked out of the room. Apparently I scream in my sleep a lot. It's not even just a basic little scream though, it's full on bloody murder screaming. My uncle had often described it was 'night terrors.' They came from traumatic events in ones life, that's all I knew.

I shook my head slightly and pushed my half-asleep body up off of the sofa. I yawned once or twice as I made my way to the kitchen. Slowly, I moved to the kettle, turning it on and steeping some Earl Gray tea, that's when I looked at the empty table and frowned - Silvie sat there every morning and drank her Earl Gray with class. I remember when I was eight, she would offer me some tea. I tried it once, but I spat it out. Earl Gray tasted like shit. Silvie would laugh as I washed my tongue under the tap; of course I would have to climb ontop of the counter to do so. She would smile at me, and call me "Lion Boy." Silvie wasn't just an aunt to me, she was more of a mother, whom of which loved me very much. I missed her, and I knew my uncle did too, even though he didn't show it whatsoever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I jumped up from the chair and pushed the table out of my way, spilling hot Earl Gray everywhere. The house went silent and I shook. My mind raced through thoughts of what could have just happened. There was a scream, and a bang. I prayed to myself that my uncle had just shot a bird and did a battle cry whilst doing so. Anything but what probably was.

And there my uncle stood, his frail body hunched recklessly over a puddle of blood. There was no body, and he was not the one that had been shot. There was just a pool of red liquid laying on the floor, and a black revolver in my uncles hands. I inched toward him and helped him move to his bed. He mumbled a few words that were compeltely inaudible. He kept shaking out words, grabbing at my shirt and trembing. I pulled the covers up and over him slightly, just enough to keep him warm. "I can't understand you," I finally said once he had stopped huffing. My uncle stared at me with wide eyes pointing at the blood puddle.

"There's nobody there," I stated. He shoved me and ran to the puddle, pointing and kicking at the air. His foot stopped at a certain point each time, hitting hard against something. I furrowed my brow and walked over to him. "There's nobody there."

My uncle now lay in his bed and I sat next to him in a chair as he fell asleep. Nobody is there. Nobody was there. My uncle is just going insane. I swear it. Though I knew I should probably call the hospital, I didn't. I wanted to clean up the puddle and make sure my uncle was feeling better before I did anything else. Once I heard a small humming from my sleeping uncle I got up from the chair and grabbed some rags and hardwood floor cleaner. I attacked the staining red circle with force. The whole time I was cleaning I couldn't stop wondering what exactly was going on. I could only hope that my uncle was okay and nothing was wrong with him.

"Elliot!" my name was called by my uncle. I dropped the rag and ran to his bed. He wasn't there. I looked down at where his body had left a warm indent in the sheets and my eyes widened. I could feel my body tensing and eyes welling up. In place of where he was sleeping was another pool of blood, and no body. I racked my brain to try and clue in that this could just possibly be another night terror, but it wasn't. I came to that realization after pinching myself multiple times.

I fell forward into the sheets and hugged onto the blood stained pillows. "Fuck!" I forced out multiple swears through my clenched jaw. The blood was still warm and damp, and I knew that it would just be staining my sweater and jeans, but at this point, I really just did not give a damn.

After an hour of being in a break down I forced myself up and off of the bed. He was gone. My uncle was actually gone, and I didn't know where the fuck his body was. I grabbed a knife from his bedside drawer and walked cautiously down the stairs in case somebody was in our house. I made my way to the main telephone and dialed for the police. The line clicked and I heard somebody speak in a rough voice.

"Hello, 911, how may we assist you?"

I felt awkward and scared, and just all around confused. I spoke quietly. "My uncle... he's gone." I sighed, realizing I sounded like an eight year old lost cause. "What do you mean, sir?" the woman replied. I clenched my fist and growled. "Send a fucking ambulance! That's what I mean!" I didn't know where this anger errupted from, but it felt good to yell at somebody for once. I was so used to being quiet. "Ambulance is on their way." I slammed the phone back onto the holdster and shrivled down against the wall, hugging my knees tight to my chest.

There was a hard knock on the front door. _They're here._ I shook slightly and stayed where I was. A few knocks later and the door was being kicked down. A group of darkly dressed men and a few men in white ran into my house and toward me. "Are you okay?" one of the men in black asked me. I looked up at him and shook my head no. He stayed with me while the others searched the house. "You're not going to find a body," I stammered. I recieved a few strange looks. "I couldn't even find one myself, all I found was blood on his bed." The police officers asked me where his room was, I told them. A while after they returned downstairs with befuzzled looks upon their faces. "There's no blood. No body. Nothing."

I stood up fast and scrunched my eyebrows. "Yes there is! There has to be! Look at me. Look at my clothes," I began, tugging on my shirt. "This is his blood! It was on his bed! I'm not lying!" The man in white took a deep breath and looked at me with a solemn expression. "You're derranged," he muttered, "or you killed him, either one." I shook my head again. "I didn't kill him!" I looked at each of the officers in the room, recgonizing only one. He looked at me and nodded. "This is Elliot Parker. His uncle is my brother in law. Elliot's not lying, he loved him far too much." I gave him a hopeful look. The man in white stared at me. "I can't take your word for it, Neil, he needs to come with us."

My feet, that seemed to have been glued to the floor, unstuck from the hardwood and I bolted for the door. I ran down the steps and down the road. I refused to look back. I just kept running. Wind hit hard against my face. I took occasional glances at the houses I was passing by, knowng that the families inside were probably sitting at their tables eating dinner. They probably had all of their family members alive. Everyday up until the past couple have been normal, nothing ever fucking changed here. I used to hate everyday being the exact same, but now I wished everything stayed the same. I wish Silvie was still alive, maybe then my uncle would be alive too.

I could hear the cop cars and the ambulance sirens moving closer toward me. Part of me knew that I should just stop running and give up, but I didn't want to go with them. I didn't want to be the talk of the damn neighborhood for weeks on end. I turned around a sharp corner, hopefully throwing off the cars. My mind was racing faster and then I saw it. The perfect hiding place.

A large, gray building stood in front of me. It was surrounded by a tall, black fence and outlined by dead, eight foot tall hedges. There was a small house in front of it - it was small, white and had a rusted door. I knew the house. It was the Artaud residence, and quite possibly the most rumoured about house in all of Havenport. I took a deep breath as I heard the sirens getting closer. I ran toward the black fence and shook at the gate. "Let me in!" I huffed loudly and the gates opened slightly. I stumbled inside the gates and fell to the ground as they closed behind me. The sirens passed by the building, and I watched the cars drive off into the distance. I was safe. I was okay. But what the fuck was this place?


End file.
